


Flesh And Blood

by LadyShiva17



Series: Nobody Better Hurt You [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Blood, F/M, turian biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShiva17/pseuds/LadyShiva17
Summary: A simple spark has the power to become a roaring fire, and Garrus is starting to feel a little warm. (I'm sorry. I hate summaries.)





	1. Blood

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bioware's awesome characters or games. I just write about them for fun.

She yanked her arm back to herself with a hiss, away from the work bench. The metal cutters had slipped and pierced the skin of her index finger. It stung, and blood began oozing to the surface of the small prick. She brought it up to her lips and sucked the blood off, unaware she'd been seen from across the room.

He had heard her make a slight noise, and before he could turn to look he could already smell her blood, tiny amount that it was. The predatory instinct in him making itself known, quietly. He inhaled the scent, relishing it. It was not the first time he'd caught a whiff of human blood. Chora's wasn't exactly known for its peaceful atmosphere. He'd seen many a barroom brawl between humans and other aliens turn fatal, and after a few years in C-Sec, he had come to recognize the scent. He knew it was red and thick, and if spilt in large quantities meant death to a human.

The scent, blood of any species, on the battlefield meant victory. Turians were apex-predators. Their senses heightened, the sheer instinct to kill overpowering all other thoughts. It was a death sentence to whatever lay between a turian and his target, not to mention the target. Blood lust, cold and primal.

In battle the instinct to kill was good, necessary. In everyday life, like that aboard an Alliance ship surrounded by crew mates and friends, it went unused. Worse, it was dangerous if not in check. That's why it surprised him when he inhaled the scent of Shepard's blood. His first thought was not about controlling the overwhelming need to conquer an enemy. His mandibles tightened as he watched her suck the red substance from her finger.

No, what he felt was predatory, but in a much different way. Instead, the one animalistic urge that pulsed through him in a matter of seconds was a sexual one.

Between turians, the act of "love" was not a soft, gentle moment like that shared between other species, such as asari or humans. The same primal instincts that aided the soldier in battle were similar when it came to romance. It was brutal, violent, each partner making certain to leave their mark on the other. Turians had sharp fangs, and blood was inevitable in any serious coupling. It was a sign of possession, for mates. While not as sweet and romantic as a human kiss, a bite from a lover to the collar was an exceptional sign of love, eternal devotion. Turian unions were lifelong.

The scent of a partners blood during such a moment called into action the carnal, animal lust that would normally be attributed to fighting. It was hot and heavy, and completely numbed all other urges. Losing control was an inevitability.

These are the urges that ran through his mind for a split second, watching her suck on her finger one last time before wiping the blood onto her pants. The scent was still in the air, floating to his sensitive nose, and with it the urge to conquer, to lose all self-control, to possess a female. His female. Which was odd, to him. Shepard was not his. Shepard was Shepard. He ground his teeth together, fighting the perplexing thoughts.

By now she had returned to the task of modifying her armor. Her back was to him, facing the work bench in the Normandy's cargo bay. He stood next to the Mako, having been in the middle of tune-ups when she had unwittingly interrupted him. Now he just watched, dangling the wrench in his hand, mouth slightly agape.

Her body wasn't spectacular, not for a human anyway. But then he wouldn't really know what was good and what was less than. All he had ever fantasized about were turian women, even as a boy. Of course, he'd seen the mags featuring "exotic" species: asari, quarian, human, drell. Yet he had never been attracted to them. He had never thought of a human as a potential mate, or even a lover. There was already such a stigma against inter-species relationships, he had never spent much time entertaining those types of thoughts. But before now, he had never met any human quite like Shepard.

He studied her form as she bent over the table, concentrating on whatever she was working on. The dark, black hair she usually wore swathed up into a bun while on duty was now cascading over her shoulders. It looked thick, and it reflected the dim red light of the cargo bay. His eyes traveled down her shoulders. Her body was muscular, but not overtly. Not bulky like a male. Her milky, pinkish skin looked soft, but he wouldn't know for sure unless he felt it. And he never had. It certainly didn't seem as tough as his plated turian skin. He wondered, then, what it would feel like against his. He pictured marking her neck with his teeth...

Suddenly there was a loud clang of metal against metal. He had dropped the wrench. She spun around at the sound, and he could do nothing but wince. Her expression was quizzical, as if to make sure he was alright. He didn't realize he'd been staring. Quickly he looked away. He scooped up the tool and turned back to the Mako, as if he had been focused on it this entire time. She frowned, but didn't make anything of it and turned back to her work. Silently, he thanked the Spirits that she had. He couldn't possibly form words while his mind was struggling to comprehend it all, struggling to comprehend why his first urge after he noticed her scent had been to...to take her.

Vivid images flashed through his head, and he shook it, trying to clear the haze before it started. Fiddling with the control panel before him, Garrus sighed. He wasn't going to get anything done like this. This, whatever it was, would have to wait. Nobody else was lining up to repair the Mako's suspension for the umpteenth time.


	2. Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always had issue with the lack of sleeping space on SR1 so I made up a crews sleeping quarters type area that may have been "behind the scenes" in game, so lets just go with that. Hahah! Oh, and slightly NFSW, so beware. But I mean, that's why you're here right? :P

He jolted awake suddenly. Slowly he reached over the side of the cot for his omni-tool. The orange holographic images nearly blinding him, he checked the time. 0300 hours. Heaving a sigh, he let the tool fall quietly to the floor and shifted himself around in bed. He fluffed his flattened pillow and turned onto his side. He frowned and squeezed his eyes shut. Normally his sleep went uninterrupted. None of the men in the shared quarters snored, usually. He must have had a dream or something, he couldn't remember. He didn't really care, he just wanted to sleep.

He was looking forward to tomorrow. The Normandy had entered the Kepler Verge just as the night shift began, and by morning they would reach the Herschel System, where he could finally confront that twisted bastard Saleon. Just like Shepard promised him. He smirked. Oh, was he looking forward to it. He drifted off contentedly, his mind relaxed and his body soon followed, the grin on his face slipping away.

It seemed like only a minute later when he was suddenly aware of movement at the foot of his bed. His eyes flew open, but it was too dark to see who it was that had started crawling on top of him. The intruder inserted themselves between him and the thin covers, and Garrus realized who it was. He recognized the scent of lavender as she straddled him. His heart thudded violently in his chest.

It was Shepard. Here, in his cot. In a room full of six other sleeping marines. Shepard.

His brain was short-circuiting, trying to register what was happening as he felt the warmth of her body against his, felt her hands slide up his chest. What the hell was happening? As shocked as he was, as many questions as he had, he was powerless to the intense desire coursing through him as she writhed on top of him. He wanted to reciprocate her actions, wanted to grab her and dig his talons into the supple skin of her hips. Instead he swallowed the instincts he felt flooding to the surface and tried to speak, quietly, for fear of being discovered by anyone waking up.

"Shepard, what-?" She silenced his weak protest before it even began, pressing a finger to his mouth and shook her head, her black slept-in hair falling over her shimmering green eyes, reflecting the electric blue of his own. He shut up, his body aching as he watched her move, his sight adjusted so that he could make out her form in the dark. She sat across his waist, in nothing but her white N7 tank and black exercise shorts. The fabric of the shirt had ridden up and exposed her well-toned abdomen, the blanket feebly covering her lower back.

She flashed a bright smile, leaning in close to his face, and nuzzled his neck, her hot breath sending shivers down his spine. She reached her arms up past his shoulders, but in doing so lost her balance on the tiny bed. Garrus' reflexes reacted and his talons went straight to her hips, holding her steady. He noticed how bare her thighs were, how soft, and he couldn't help but give them a squeeze.

She must have approved because her hips started to rock against him, suggestively, and her hands fondled the fringe at the back of his head, tugging gently. The combination felt so good, he couldn't stop himself from groaning with pleasure. Oh Spirits, how did she know?

Her body emanated heat, he could feel the blood pulsing through her, and his own arousal was becoming apparent. He couldn't resist any longer, the raw hunger overwhelmed him. It was too much. His hands ran up her thighs and to her ass, piercing her with his talons, eliciting a little gasp. She was kissing and licking his neck and collar, and his chest rumbled win a deep, low growl. He needed her.

He sat up slightly and wrapped an arm around her waist. Shifting in the bed, he swiftly reversed their positions, flipping her onto her back, her legs still wound around his body. The metal legs of the cot squeaked faintly, but he was too preoccupied to care. He stared down at her, eyes filled with a predatory intent. He opened his mouth to say something when she arched upwards and caught him in a kiss. A human kiss.

He'd completely forgotten what he was going to say.

Her lips were soft and wet and she pressed them lightly against his tougher turian mouth. He didn't know quite how to respond, he'd never been kissed by a human before. But he didn't care, he just followed her lead. She traced her tongue along the edges of his mouth and he opened up to her, allowing her to explore his fangs with her tongue, before meeting her with his own. He tasted her hot little mouth, sucking on her, careful not to hurt her, running his longer, sturdier tongue across her blunt teeth. The need to catch his breath forced him to separate himself from her, but lasted only a second before she grabbed his fringe and pulled him back down to her eager mouth.

Their breathing was heavy now.

He bit her bottom lip, gently so as not to break the skin, and she let out a raspy hiss. She clawed the back of his neck and pushed into his body with her hips. He acquiesced. His hands had found their way up her back and under her tank top. He pulled it down, the thin straps rolling down her shoulders with little encouragement, and her breasts fell into view. He massaged one of those magnificent mounds of flesh with one hand and tugged on her soft black hair with the other. He felt her body shudder in response, so he kept at it. Her hands ventured south, tickling him as she felt along the plates of his bare abdomen. He stifled a chuckle before she slipped under his pants to stroke him, the laugh quickly morphing into a deep, appreciative growl. She sighed happily in return. Still kissing him, she used her free hand to pull away at her shorts. He helped her remove them from one leg, leaving them to hang around her left ankle.

He leaned down and nuzzled between her breasts before returning to her for a kiss. She smiled into his mouth and popped him out of his pants, wrapping her warm little five-digit hands around him. He couldn't stand it anymore, he had to have her. They could be quiet. He was about to make her his when suddenly everything turned white.

Garrus blinked several times, his heart pounding, adjusting his eyes to the bright lights on the ceiling. He looked around the room, only to see empty beds. He was completely alone. The abrupt awakening had come from his omni-tool alarm, set for 0700. He groaned, loudly, and rolled over, reaching for his tool. The alarm had been repeating for twenty-three minutes. He shut it off and dropped it. He laid there, staring at the ceiling until his heart slowed, and rubbed his face.

He couldn't believe the dream he'd just had. It was all kinds of wrong. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot, hanging his head in his hands. Shepard.

Commander Shepard.

By the Spirits, he was going to have a hell of a day.


	3. Dreams

The Commander hadn't been able to sleep, her body had been too restless for that. So instead of lying there in bed she spent a few hours in the vehicle bay fiddling with her pistol. She was itching to use the new hammerhead rounds she'd found back on Noveria. Garrus had picked some up last time they were on the Citadel and she'd been more than a little envious. That sniper was already a damn fine shot, and those power-packed shells made it even more impressive when they slammed their target into the wall.

She snorted, thinking of how childish she sounded. Even to herself. Still smiling, she thought of Garrus while she absently cleaned the barrel. The turian officer had been on her mind most of the day, while they traveled to the Kepler Verge, and again that night. Maybe that was why she couldn't rest.

This mission was important to him, she knew that. She recognized the regret in his voice when he told her about the salarian doctor, and how he'd ran. She knew he beat himself up over it, and she didn't want him to. Especially since they were already on such a high risk operation. Commander Shepard needed her turian at his best. The turian. She frowned, but didn't think twice.

The geneticist would get what was coming to him, he'd eluded punishment long enough. And Officer Vakarian would have set things right. She wanted to help him finish what he'd started. Tomorrow she'd make it happen.

Lovingly inspecting her Stiletto, she yawned. She'd upgraded it to a kinetic recoil, which would help with the kickback, improving her accuracy, and loaded it with her new ammo. She was happy, and finally sleepy. Another yawn and she switched off the light above the work counter and boarded the elevator, heading towards her cabin.

As reluctant as she was to leave Captain Anderson on the Citadel and replace him as Normandy's CO, there were some perks. One of which was the private captain's quarters.

When she'd first boarded the Normandy, before Eden Prime, Shepard had searched the ship for a place to sleep that was separate from the rest of the crew. She had found a storage alcove that was barely used, and convinced Anderson to let her set up a cot. After Torfan she didn't like sharing quarters with a crew. Too many uncomfortable glances. A separate bunk was good for her sanity. Now she slept in the captain's cabin, which was luxury compared to her store room.

She shoved her pants down, kicked them off, and collapsed onto her bed, leaving her in only briefs and a tank. Four hours to sleep, and then it was go-time. She drifted off easily this time, thinking about how nice it would be to have a turian wandering the ship who was in good spirits. Maybe he was already in good spirits... Was he? She didn't know that much about turian behavior. Shepard didn't even know what was going through her mind at that point. She'd fallen asleep.

*

Garrus skipped breakfast and opted instead for a long, cool shower. He still felt guilty for dreaming of Shepard. The cold stream of water seemed to help wash away the shame, and the sweat, but not the confusion.

Knowing it was his subconscious that betrayed him did not make it better. On the contrary. She was his commanding officer. A Council Spectre. A human! And they seemed to be becoming friends. How could he even entertain thoughts like that? It was irrelevant whether he could control them.

The turians were a militant and disciplined people, taught to restrict their emotions, constantly fighting to keep the animal urges of their ancestors at bay. Those instincts served well for survival, and other areas of life where a certain amount of passion was expected, but otherwise a good turian was expected to strive to maintain their dignity and composure - and succeed.

Garrus heaved a sigh and stopped the water. He stood there, naked, his body temperature starting to drop. He was discovering more and more that he was not a good turian. His career in C-Sec was over because he disobeyed orders - refusing to drop the Arterius investigation, acting alone, eventually joining up with Shepard. He guessed that that alone made him a less than perfect member of his species. Then his mind wandered back years before, when he'd given up on his hopes of becoming a Spectre. Because he had followed orders - his father's orders - and his jaw tightened in frustration. He was doing things for the right reasons now, for his own reasons. No one else. Did that necessarily make him a 'bad' turian?

He shook his head, the water flicking off his mandibles and fringe. This wasn't the time for introspection. He had more important matters at hand, like the salarian. The epiphanies could wait, and so could the Shepard dream. Garrus laughed at himself. Finally, the tension in his shoulders had eased a bit. He would be able to look at his commander, his friend, without vividly imagining her writhing on top of him. Right?

Oh, Spirits.

His palm went to his forehead. Any action would be good. He needed to blow off some steam, and what better way than dispensing some well-deserved justice on the galaxy?

After stepping into his blue and silver armor he headed for the vehicle bay. He was probably going to want his pistol.

*

He was checking the sight of his rifle and stuffing some clips into his side-pouches when the intercom crackled and beeped. He stiffened when he heard her voice.

"Garrus, Joker's got the freighter on sensors."

He didn't reply immediately.

"Vakarian?" she sounded annoyed.

He cleared his throat. "Loud and clear, Commander. I'll be right up there."

"Okay," and she was off the comm. He scooped up his pistol and attached it to his hip, his rifle on his back. He slammed his locker shut.

"Let's get this over with," he growled under his breath, his sharp blue eyes narrow and determined. Taking a deep breath in and out through his nose, he cleared his head and made his way to the bridge.


	4. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I should let you know that this Shepard is a decisively renegade Shep when it comes to her favorite turian. Just a heads up. :)

The Normandy's scanners locked onto a biohazard beacon long before the ship of origin was pinged. Saleon was obviously trying to keep people out using the beacon, and he was probably successful until now. Other ships would have had no reason to confirm that the signal was genuine. But Garrus' contacts in C-Sec had finally come through, and the Normandy had received the ship's last known coordinates. Shepard wasted no time getting them there. Garrus had made it clear that this guy was slippery, and they weren't about to let him get away again.

The MSV Fedele was a small cargo freighter retrofitted for use as a science vessel. Or, more appropriately, a torture vessel. A butcher shop that had been forced to relocate.

Commander Shepard, Officer Vakarian, and Doctor T'Soni were assembled at the airlock, prepared to board the vessel. As a scientist, Liara was joining them in case they came across any survivors. Maybe she could help them, if possible, and work in tandem with Doctor Chakwas back on the Normandy. Her biotic abilities were also an asset. The girl they'd rescued on Therum had come a long way. She was transforming, embracing her abilities now that she had more to contend with than a dig site. There was more at stake. Shepard grinned, pleased with the progress Liara had made. That singularity ability she used was killer on the field.

Glancing past Liara she noticed Garrus tapping his thigh impatiently. He caught her eye and she jutted her chin towards him.

"You ready?" she asked.

Garrus simply nodded in reply, his dark eyes piercingly blue.

*

The freighter was very ordinary in design, one would never know it was the home of despicable experiments. Down the first hall they were met with a large room filled to the brim with crates. Many were labelled as containing medical supplies, which was ironic, she thought. This doctor wasn't fixing people. Quite the opposite.

Unsure of what to expect, they started slowly through the room. She signaled T'Soni to the left and Garrus to the right. They complied, their weapons drawn, and the three of them continued cautiously, snaking between the crates.

Liara looked nervous, and Shepard was about to reassure her when suddenly they heard a loud guttural moan. Taking cover, she peeked around the corner of a stack of crates. She knew what it was before she saw it.

"We got creepers!" she announced, jumping out of cover. She deftly blew the legs out from under the creature coming at her and finished it with a shot to the head. "Come on!" she cried to her squad, and blasted another creeper with her pistol and rolling out of range as it exploded. She had just cleaned her armor.

"On it!" Garrus shouted, quickly swapping his pistol for his rifle and mounting one of the crates at the same time. He readied the weapon and started expertly picking off the enemies. Not one reached his squad, who easily finished off any left standing with their biotic abilities.

As a sentinel class human herself, Shepard liked using a biotic throw as her go-to move. That, combined with a shot to the face from her favourite pistol, she'd found to be pretty damn effective. Especially against anything like husks or creepers, who weren't the hardest to kill, but had a tendency to swarm. A throw would push most enemies back long enough to take care of them with a weapon. Whichever one she happened to enjoy using at the moment. Right now that was her pistol, equipped with those awesome new hammerhead rounds.

Liara used a singularity field to trap the last few creepers coming out of the woodwork while he and Shepard easily took them out.

"Perfect," Liara panted.

Moving on through the large room, they came to a corridor, where they were greeted with three different doors. Shepard motioned for Liara to scan the left door, and was about to tell Garrus to do the same for the right door, but he held up his hand.

"Hold on," he whispered. Shepard and Liara looked confused. "We don't need to scan, just let me listen," he explained quietly, and his teammates went silent.

He moved between the three doors, listening, sniffing the air, as Shepard and Liara held their breath. The N7 program had taught her a lot about alien races and their attributes, but she sometimes forgot how heightened the turian's senses were. He could hear the heartbeat of anyone close by, and she was guessing he could easily pick up their scent too.

She was right. He knew the pungent smell of a salarian without a doubt. But he also picked up the scent of blood. A lot of it, from a lot of different species. His mandibles clicked, his jaw tightening in anger.

There was only one dual-heartbeat, in the center room. He gripped his pistol and motioned for Shepard to bypass the door.

The doctor jumped out of his skin when the door whooshed open, and he held up his hands.

"Thank you," the salarian gasped, "Thank you for saving me from those things!"

Shepard slowly lowered her weapon, and Liara followed suite. Garrus did not. He glowered at the doctor. He didn't have patience for this.

"Commander, that's him," Garrus reminded her. "That's Doctor Saleon." The name left his mouth like acid, practically leaving a sour taste on his tongue.

Shepard turned her steely green eyes to the salarian, almost willing him to challenge the three of them. Liara's body glowed with biotic energy, ready to hold him in a biotic field if he ran.

"What?" he stammered. "My name is Heart. Doctor Heart. Please get me out of here."

She didn't take her eyes from him. "Are you sure it's him?" she asked quietly. She wasn't about to shoot the wrong guy. But she trusted Garrus.

"Positive." Garrus took a step closer, towering over the salarian. His mandibles flared and his eyes bore into his skull.

"There's no escape this time, Doctor." His voice was deep and menacing, and Shepard noticed a tingle run down her spine as she watched him. "I'd harvest your organs first," he growled, "but we don't have the time."

"You're crazy." Saleon was squirming under his threat, and peeked around the ex-cop to look at Shepard. "He's crazy. Please, don't let him do this to me," he pleaded.

The jig was up. He knew exactly why they were there. Her eyes were as cold as her voice. "Put him out of his misery so we can get going."

Liara's eyes widened in shock at the Commander's words, and Garrus' glinted in agreement.

"Gladly," the turian grimaced. "Your days of butchering are over, Doctor."

He raised his pistol and aimed at his target.

"No, please!" The salarian tried to turn and run, pulling a weapon out from behind him in a last ditch effort to fight. But his finger never touched the trigger.

Garrus fired twice, and Saleon fell dead, a hole in each of his hearts. Fitting, he thought.

He took a deep breath, staring at the body below him, and then turned towards Shepard. She was studying his expression, hoping he didn't regret what he'd just done. She opened her mouth to speak, but didn't get the chance.

"That was..." Garrus searched for the word. "Satisfying."

He looked from Shepard to Liara, who was silent, then back to Shepard. His body language was calm and voice steady, but his eyes were wide, as if asking for approval, or reassurance.

"Good." Shepard said, firmly. "Remember that feeling. That's how it should be."

He nodded, grateful for her understanding. "I will, Commander."

Stepping over the dead salarian, Shepard moved further into the room, taking a look around. "I assume there aren't any more people here?"

Garrus shook his head. "I think we met them when we boarded."

Liara gasped. "You mean...?"

"His test subjects," Garrus sighed.

"Oh, goddess!" Her hand flew to her mouth.

"It seems he took genetic manipulation to a whole new level," Shepard explained.

Garrus growled, "I bet if his employees knew they'd be turned into those they'd have turned him in a long time ago."

The medical equipment in the room was mottled with dried, colourful stains. Shepard cringed. The copious amounts of dark red human blood was easy for her to identify. The purple stains she knew were asari, as Liara was looking faint in the corner. She figured the orange blotches might belong to krogan, but she couldn't be sure. She'd never seen one bleed before.

She didn't recognize the blue stains right away. Turning to Garrus, who had walked over beside her, she gestured to the lab equipment.

"Is this...?"

"Turian," he replied without hesitation.

Shepard stood there for a moment, noticing that the only green salarian blood in the room had pooled from the wounds on the dead doctor. A look of disgust washed over her face as she realized that the bastard hadn't experimented on his own species. Just others. She knew Garrus had noticed it too. Finally she turned to her squad, angrily.

"Let's get off this boat."

*

Ten minutes later they were back aboard the Normandy, removing their breather helmets once they were outside the airlock.

Liara reached for Garrus' arm, her expression calm, almost sad. "I understand why you felt this was necessary."

He thanked her awkwardly, and she left for the med bay. Shepard was about to follow her down the hall when Garrus stopped her, reaching for her. She turned to look up at him. He was standing very close to her.

"Yes, Garrus?"

He shuffled his feet, and quietly said, "I want to really thank you, Shepard. For helping me finish this." He paused, looking down. "Not everyone would have gone along with a mission like that."

What he meant was that no one else would have ever allowed him to carry out a vengeance mission. And he was still surprised that she let him do it. His mandibles fluttered, staring at her, her black bun pulled loose from the helmet and her emerald eyes bright.

She smiled, but not gleefully. It was more of an understanding, knowing, smile. She touched his arm gently and said, "Garrus, I trusted you to do the right thing. And as far as I'm concerned, you did. Saleon was a monster. He and his work needed to be stopped."

He nodded, gravely. "Yeah."

"I'll come down to the vehicle bay as soon as I'm changed and we'll talk some more."

"Sure thing, Shepard," he agreed, and she walked away, leaving him there standing outside the airlock.


	5. Trust

Sitting on the cold metal floor with his back propping him up against the Mako's huge back tire, Garrus quietly cleaned his armor of the gunk that resulted in shooting creepers at close range. A sticky black substance. Not blood exactly, not anymore.

His stomach used to turn at the sight of these things, but after a while he'd gotten used to being horrified. Somewhere along the way.

He thought about all of the people that Saleon had used. He remembered the employee who bled out in the interview room, and remembered how it had made him sick when he learned the truth. It wasn't right. It wasn't even sane. He was glad the bastard was dead. It was justice for all those he had tortured - grown organs inside of, and harvested - for profit.

Before joining the Normandy, he had nearly given up any hope of avenging them. But today, he had done just that - and with the help of Commander Shepard, of the Alliance Navy. She'd been there to make sure of it. He almost couldn't believe it. He didn't expect her to understand his need for vengeance. She had seemed so professional, by-the-book. Honoured among humans, and now even the Council had shown her favour. She had admirers on the Citadel, actual fans. Then again, this wasn't the first time the human had surprised him. He chuckled as the memory of her less-than-cordial interview with Miss Al-Jilani flashed though his mind. He tossed away the dirty rag and grabbed a fresh one. He shouldn't have been so shocked. Shepard's background wasn't a spotless one.

She wasn't a saint. Hell, everyone knew about Torfan.

Absently polishing away, he recalled reading her file in C-Sec when she first docked on the Citadel. The Alliance's retaliation for the batarian's Skyllian Blitz and all that, and it was almost as brutal. He didn't know the exact details, he'd only skimmed the report, but he knew that when someone referred to the Butcher of Torfan, they were referring to her.

It was a long time ago, she wasn't an N7 operative then, but he guessed that it was probably the reason she was invited to join the program. She was ruthless, and willing to get dirty to get done. Turians were of the same mindset. Even if only one soldier survived, the mission would be counted as a success - officially at least. Garrus had to admire the human. He pictured an even younger, spitfire Shepard yelling obscenities at an unlucky batarian pirate before blasting him in the chest with an M-7. Enemy blood splattered on her amor, neck and jaw, a fresh gash gaping on her right cheek.

His hands had stopped polishing, but he was too deep in the daydream to notice.

His heart quickened as he imagined the planet's harsh winds tearing through her black hair, drying her wounds. He imagined teeth gritted, her determined green eyes squinting against the sun and sand flying through the air, too busy to bother with a helmet. She did prefer visors, after all. His hands gripped the rag tightly, and his blood was pulsing in his ears. It reminded him of that goddamn dream.

"Garrus?"

Blinking, he looked up to see the very woman from his daydream standing over him with an odd expression on her face. Her thick dark brows were raised in a question.

"Are you okay?" she asked, squatting next to him, eyeing him carefully.

He cleared his throat nervously and put down the rag he'd been clutching. "Of course, Commander."

"Well you looked kind of out of it," she smiled and they both stood up.

He watched her gracefully pick up the piece of armor he'd been working on. She placed it on the small workbench nearby before turning back to him and he suddenly forgot how to speak.

"I, uh... I was just...thinking," he sputtered. She settled into one hip and crossed her arms, not defensively, but it meant she was ready to be serious.

"Thinking about Heart? Or Saleon," she waved a hand carelessly. "Whatever he called himself."

He wasn't about to correct her and bring up Torfan. He wasn't an idiot.

Garrus rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually, I was thinking about you, Commander."

His remarkable hearing picked up the fact that her pulse sped up a bit, but he didn't wonder about it. Her hands also tightened around her arms, and he worried he'd offended her. But when she spoke she seemed perfectly calm. "Really?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Do tell."

He shuffled on the spot, wondering if he should even bring it up. He didn't want to offend Shepard, but at the same time, he knew she wouldn't leave until she got what she wanted from him. He'd already opened the... What was that expression he heard humans say? Ah yes, the tin of beetles. He opened the tin of beetles.

She was tapping her foot. He finally gave in.

"You're fascinating, Commander," he shook his head, with disbelief that he was telling her this. "No one else would have let me... kill Saleon."

She watched, almost amused, as he paced in the tiny area between the Mako and the console, emphasizing his words with his gestures. "Even if we'd caught up with him, my superiors would have insisted we take him in, evaluate his mental faculties, question him, and he'd eventually lawyer up and one day he'd be allowed free." He sighed. "It would be for nothing. This was a more... permanent solution."

After a moment, she straightened her back. "I thought of it," she said matter-of-factually. "Turning him in, I mean."

Garrus stared at her. In all their conversations about the doctor and finding the MSV Fedele, she'd never suggested bringing him in. "You did?"

She shook her head, dismissively. "But I trusted you to make the right call, Garrus. And you trusted me when you told me that the galaxy would be better off without him."

She saw the surprise in his eyes.

"Besides," she shrugged. "You knew the situation better than I did."

He exhaled, and his subharmonics hummed, sending a shiver down the back of her neck. Shepard was starting to think she just really enjoyed listening to him speak.

"Thanks, Commander. That... means a lot."

She smiled, her voice chipper. "Hey, we're all in this together. You, Wrex, Tali, Liara. You're all important to me. If we can't trust each other, who can we?"

He chuckled, breathily, and her head tingled again.

"Heh. You missed Williams and Alenko."

"They're Alliance. They don't have a choice," she said wryly. "The rest of you do."

Their smiling eyes locked for what seemed like a very drawn out second before Shepard took a deep breath.

"I've gotta go talk to Wrex." She threw a glance over her shoulder at the ruddy-coloured, scar-riddled krogan across the large area of the vehicle bay. "I promised."

"Duty calls." Garrus stretched out his hand, offering the human gesture of a handshake. "Thank you, Commander."

She reciprocated and clasped his three-fingered hand with her five-fingered one. They shook. She grinned. "Any time, Officer Vakarian."


End file.
